


Shake it

by Manatees_for_Mystrade



Series: Silver Tiger [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Action, Crack, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Overprotective Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-16 21:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11837514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manatees_for_Mystrade/pseuds/Manatees_for_Mystrade
Summary: Mycroft wished to surprise his DI with romantic dinner, but he is quite clumsy in a kitchen, so he hurt himself (quite badly). When Sherlock saw him, he had only one logical explanation: his big brother is a poor victim of domestic violence! Of course, he won‘t tolerate it! After he shared his deductions with Anthea, every member of British secret service turned against Greg Lestrade.What should I say more? Let the hunt begin!





	1. Day off

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, English is not my first language and I really can't write like a native. So if you spot an error (I know it's full of them) or want to become my Beta, please let me know :)  
> PS: I don't want to sound too desperate, but I would love to have a Beta. Join me I have cookies... Okay, I don't. Although I can still be generous, you would get gifts and much more.

"John, he made me sooo mad yesterday! I had completely lost my self-control!" Complained Greg over a pint.

"What had he done? Did he blow up a microwave again because of some stupid experiment?"

"Ok… Every Holmes has something." Said Greg with sympathy. John just nodded. They shared one knowing look and changed the topic to football for rest of night.

 

-II-

 

Anthea carefully took a look at her boss. Something wasn‘t right. Nobody else would probably notice, but Anthea has known Mycroft Holmes enough to spot how his eyelid twitched – which could mean just one thing. He was in distress.

"Sir?" Asked Anthea cautiously. Mycroft didn‘t react. _Well, that is bloody strange…_ Thought Anthea.

"Sir." Still no answer.

"SIR! ARE YOU THERE?" Anthea increased her voice. Mycroft nearly jumped (of course without losing his poker face).

"Oh… I was lost in thought. Hmm, would you mind to bring me a tea?" Anthea lifted her left eyebrow in disbelief. Mycroft immediately counter-attacked with a freezing stare. However, Anthea (after 8 years working under Mycroft) could play this game too. And she hadn't intended to lose. After 15 minutes of a brutal staring fight had Mycroft blinked. Anthea smirked. _I got him_.

"So?" Said Anthea full of victory.

"It‘s… It‘s about Gregory…" Said Mycroft and Anthea beamed. For a moment was she afraid, that he meant the secret operation GR-8 in Iraq. The Relationship between her boss and certain copper was much more interesting. _Hmm… He is looking devastated. What did he fuck up this time?_ Thought Anthea fully aware that, if she said it aloud she could say bye bye to her Christmas bonus for rest of her days.

"What has happened?" Asked she instead.

"Yesterday he… Let‘s say, he had quite aggressively verbally confronted me about protective measures, which I had arranged for him. "

"How many did he find?"

"7 of 29." Anthea sighed. _Inspector has a patience of a saint._ Even if she found only one camera from her boyfriend, she would get rid of him. On the other hand, Mycroft Holmes **is** living personification of the British government, it‘s only matter of time when somebody will try to hurt his boyfriend. ‚Measures‘ were necessary – _at least some of them_. But Anthea knew for certain that her boss will never retreat on any of them. _It‘s time for a different approach_.

"Hmm, if I am not wrong tomorrow would be a month when you had the first date."

"And?"

"Sir, have you ever heard of anniversary?" Mycroft seemed to light up.

"You think, Gregory would be pleased?"

"Romantic dinner with surprise? I am sure he will be delighted, sir."

"Excellent idea! Immediately book a table at Aigre-Douce. Naturally, I mean the lovely restaurant in the centre of Paris not the hideous establishment in Harrow. Oh, and some small jet. I hope, I don‘t have to emphasize the demand for a discrete pilot."

"Ehhh, I am afraid, that you won‘t reconcile with him if you chose such gesture."

"I am exaggerating again, right? Gregory says, I always overreact!" Mycroft started lamenting and Anthea nearly laughed. Since Iceman met DI, he started to melt. Till today she had never seen him display so many emotions. He deeply cared for his copper.

"Sir, I believe inspector would appreciate more something personal. Maybe dinner at your place with candles or some sweet dessert. Nothing too big." Proposed Anthea calmly.

"Splendid! Move my tomorrow schedule – I will take one day off." Anthea opened her mouth. She had never heard him say this sentence. Mycroft Holmes was always too important to have time only for himself. He left his work only when Sherlock was in a hospital or in really big trouble. Then there were Christmas and family dinners – but they were firmly in his schedule just like meeting with PM or queen. _Day off… If this isn‘t Love, I have no idea what else is._

"Yes, sir." Said Anthea with a heartwarming smile.

 


	2. Mycroft's cooking disaster

The next morning Mycroft got up at 6 o‘clock. An hour later than he was used to. It was difficult for him to overcome his inner clock but he stayed in his bed to get more of beauty sleep. He didn‘t want to have any big grey bags under eyes. _Not today._ He had a shower and put on his favourite cashmere dressing gown. Mycroft ran his hand over his sleeves. _Silk as sin_. He blushed. _Shame, that Gregory won‘t allow me to dress him up_. However, Mycroft hadn‘t time for such fantasies. He sat at a computer and started to google: perfect stay at home date. He immediately received ‚About 92 000 000 results‘.

He spent the entire morning searching for the tips before he was finally happy with his research. He came to the conclusion that he would use web named: **The Five Golden Rules For Everything of Jolanda L. O‘vekiss** , whose article Perfect stay-at-home date had 29 000 like. Her page used a quite improper language, but to Mycroft horror, all webs without misspellings contained only instruction for people from 19th-century. This wasn‘t his ambition at all. Mycroft wanted to prove he is modern and cool!

**Step 1: Clean your mess!**

The first step, though fairly straightforward, was easy. After all, he had a housekeeper. On the first visit, Gregory expressed doubts that someone actually lives in his house. Mycroft stopped himself in motion, then he pulled out a few books from the shelf and tossed them around the room. _Yes, much more ‚cozy‘._

**Step 2: Flowers! Have no fear even guy can enjoy lovely Puget! At least it will minimize the initial uncertainty and you have something to laugh at!**

Mycroft searched in his mind. Gregory's favourite flower is a tulip. Once he mentioned how he loved to play in his mother‘s garden when he was little. Then they moved to an apartment. After a year his mother got sick and died in a hospital because their doctor McBeth overlooked her symptoms. When Gregory Lestrade thought of her, he saw tulips. _Tulips_. Mycroft Holmes has no known allergy – except for tulips. ‚ _You should suffer for true love‘_. Quoted Mycroft Jolanda‘s motto and ordered two extra large tulip Pugets.

**Step 3: Select a movie! You are looking for something romantic not just averagely ‚Netflix and chill‘ – my secret tip? Pretty woman.**

He had never heard of such movie so he looked it up. After 47 second Mycroft concluded that this movie absolutely won‘t be his cup of tea. Still, he bought it. _Gregory will be surprised_.

**Step 4: Candles! Everything has to be on fire! Nothing is more romantic! Believe me!**

Mycroft didn't understand what was wrong with fully automatic lighting, but he decided to listen to Jolanda again. He made a short phone call to install 5 more fire detectors and order three packs of candles per 150 pieces.

**Step 5: FOOD! Love goes through your stomach! Do not buy any shit over a delivery service! I'm telling you this is not from your heart and your date will notice! Instead, do this superb easy light steak with a yummy sauce and a lovely choco-cake!**

He swallowed. Dryly. Mycroft had literally zero experience with cooking and baking. The last time he approached the oven was he 14. Back then Sherlock set up a "joke" and his school project – choco-cookies ended in a big cloud of black smoke. He swore he would never cook again. _But... 'a personal gesture'_. Gregory would certainly more than appreciate if Mycroft could do it himself. Mycroft changed into a turquoise shirt and black smoky trousers (his most casual outfit). Jolanda in her recipe strongly recommended for uncertain and inexperienced lovers to try to prepare the recipe before the date to test it. Therefore he ordered all the ingredients twice.

The food arrived first. Mycroft pulled off his sleeves and with newly acquired self-confidence he took a box from the courier. The kitchen already contained everything necessary. He chose a particularly sharp knife for slicing vegetables, with which he proceeded very cautiously and slowly.

Although preparing all the ingredients should (according to Jolanda) take max 15 minutes, it took him an hour to have everything ready, but he wasn‘t in hurry, Mycroft had a lot of time. The bell rang.

There were 2 men with flowers and bags full of candlesticks in the doorway. Mycroft took everything over. When he touched the tulips, he felt growing faintness in his head and his eyes started burning. _Stop being weak! You doing it for Gregory!_ Remind himself Mycroft and quickly put them into a bathtub in the west wing of the manor. Although he didn‘t hold them for more than 2 minutes, he began to feel a slightly unpleasant itching. But he didn‘t pay attention to it, he was completely immersed in the plans for the evening.

Once the whole house was filled with candles, was the right time to go back to the steak. During the rinsing of the meat, he splashed himself with water. He growled angrily and unfastened his collar. In the second drawer, he found a grilling pan. He placed it on the stove and turned the wheel gently, as he saw doing it Gordon Ramsay on youtube. Everything started to look good and the smell poured the whole kitchen. Mycroft‘s stomach growled.

With each new step in the recipe, he gained greater and greater self-confidence until he reached the step of stewing about half a tablespoon of brandy and flaming. Mycroft found a bottle of quality brandy. He opened it with experience and poured it into the pan with a smooth motion. Within a millisecond, he realized several things at once: _a) the amount he poured there is definitely a little more than a spoon b) if he ordered a delivery service, he might still be alive. Aah! I'm melodramatic again! Gregory's right._

Luckily, military training (not to mention his wild youth in espionage) left him with quick reflexes, which did not disappear even after over 20 years of mostly sedentary work. As soon as the brandy touched the smoking meat, the pan burned with fire. Mycroft fled in time (saving his eyebrows), but at the same moment he became aware of intense itching, and in his awkward attempt to get rid of the flames, he threw his forearm over the white-hot pan. He screamed in pain and grasped his hand in the other hand. Mycroft turned off the fire on the stove and ran into the bathroom to get the first aid kit. While he opened the door, he nearly fainted. The smell of tulips was overwhelming. _Fuck! That is not possible! How could I forget about them?_

But the tulips or not Mycroft had to relive his burned forearm with a stream of cold water for at least 10 minutes. Mycroft immediately felt the relief, which after a while was fully replaced with itchy feeling and breathing problems. As he mentally counted 10 minutes (per second accurately), he ran out of the bathroom. He had a first-aid kit here, but he could not stand there for another second longer. He wondered where he might have burn-aid. _3 places._ He thought and slowly walked to the closest source of burn-aid, which was a secret room beside Mycroft's main bedroom. To reveal it, he had to extract a single book from his library, one which he was sure Sherlock would never want to even pick – a photo album of a family vacation in the Caribbean.

He stepped into the newly opened room, straight ahead to the second spacious closet from the left. With one hand he tried to unlock the door, but he could not open it. So he leaned back against his weight and pushed. The door opened with a rupture. Mycroft stood and stared at a series of grenades that were falling on his head – especially one, which hit his eye. Fortunately, they were all secured so no one blew up. But his eye was burning with fury. He closed it. _What are the grenades doing here! They were supposed to be in closet 6! What a pain! I hope I will not have a black eye!_

Mycroft searched the rest of contents in the closet, however, it was empty, except for a few Kalashnikovs (but they should be there so that was ok) and a small card with a year old scrawled message:

**You should clean up this place. I've already started with it. Yeah, and I took that kits for burns – the kit from the hall wasn‘t enough for me. SHERLOCK**

"I am going to kill him."

 

-II-

 

"Achooo!"

"Bless you! Did you catch a cough in the Thames?"

"Pff, of course not! I am fit as a fiddle!"

"In that case, somebody's speaking ill of you." John grinned.

"That's the stupidest superstition I've ever heard. Do you realize it isn‘t even English? It comes from Eastern Asia." Sherlock said in a tone that, John was the dumbest person he'd ever met.

"Well... If it was true, you would have to sneeze nonstop." John laughed at his own joke and Sherlock rolled his eyes.


	3. Time for Big Brother to taste his own medicine

_So, Sherlock had plundered the hall, in that case, the only place I can find an aid is a kit in the bathroom, which is contaminated by tulips. God in heaven! I have 6 bathrooms, why do I have everything in one?! What now? Should I throw the tulips away? No, it‘s too late, they have already contaminated the entire bathroom, it will better to do a quick rescue operation._

Mycroft took a deep breath and exhaled. Then again. He wasted no time. Mycroft ran into the bathroom. It took him 3 minutes 52 seconds to got all he needed and left the dangerous area. With a winning feeling, he disinfected the wound and applied the patch. In the meantime, his wounded eye got swollen (his winning feeling was painfully dying), a wet bandage on his face relieved his pain but he felt so ashamed of himself, that he couldn‘t speak. Suddenly, he realized he heard a beep sound coming from the oven in which he had a chocolate cake. Mycroft hastily ran downstairs and for the first time in his whole life, he tripped on the stairs, then he fell directly on his butt. But he did not get up. Instead, he curled into a ball and stayed in this position for a while.

Although it was difficult for him to stand up or get the chocolate cake from the oven, he made it. Only after 40 minutes found Mycroft courage to look at himself in the mirror. What he saw, was extremely horrific!

 _A_ _n exemplary_ _black eye_ _._ _I am s_ _cratching like a damned monkey._ _Take a breath, Mycroft, you can_ _tak_ _e_ _a_ _medicine for it._ _A_ _t least_ _you_ _do not have a rash. Burned left hand._ _Bruises. Well_ _, I_ _suppose, I_ _can say goodbye to this shirt._ _Back pain. Oh gosh_ _, I look like Quasimodo!_ _No, I can‘t allow Gregory to see me_ _like_ _this!_ He pulled out the phone:

 

**I'm cancelling our dinner today. MH**

**Again? G**

**I am sorry. Work. MH**

 

Mycroft bit his upper lip. _And now I‘m lying to him._ _Oh… at least I bought_ _ingredien_ _t_ _s_ _for two cakes._ He thought sadly and walked toward the dressing room to exchange his shirt.

 

-II-

 

**ahhh I think Mycroft is avoiding me – I probably shouldnt be so hard on him yesterday… but he deserved it! G**

**Should I apologize? G**

**Definitely not! That tosser Sherlock blew up a microwave again! We just bought new yesterday! And he ate all cookies! No! You have to be harsh on Holmes or they will never learn! Let him beg you on his knees! At least he will realize his mistakes! JW**

**Wow that sounds a little bit cruel but yeah you are right :D G**

**Oh hell I am. Beer tomorrow? JW**

**Yeah if you paying :P G**

**What! That isnt fair! Why should I pay? You have a sugardaddy JW**

**Very funny. You know I dont use his money and I am older! So – like regularly? G**

**Yeah at 8 Conan McDoyle pub JW**

 

"To whom are you texting?"

"Why don‘t you deduce it, Sherlock?"

"Pfff, I was just trying to be polite. It is more than obvious, that you are arranging another ‚pub meeting‘ with Gustaf."

"What's your problem with Greg? You remember my name."

"Your name is important," Sherlock whispered. John did not hear him.

"Huh? What did you say?"

"I asked what were you talking about."

"Oh, Greg has beaten your brother aka the mighty-British-government." Sherlock raised his eyebrow sarcastically but withdrew his comments.

"I hate to say it… But when we are talking about the Big Brother, I‘m afraid we‘ll have to visit him."

"Urgh, why? Is not it enough to just call him?" John asked with annoyance.

"He did not pick up." Sherlock frowned.

"Weird... Well, maybe he was in a meeting or something?"

"I called his secretary..."

"You mean Anthea?"

"Who ... Ah, yeah, as I said his personal secretary. She told me Mr Holmes is not at work and does not wish to be disturbed by anyone **–** **me** in particular."

"Sherlock, maybe he‘s home with Greg."

"Ewww. Do not mention such disgusting things! Besides, I have already called Lestrade, he is in Scotlandyard."

"Oh yeah actually, Greg said they had a row and Mycroft is avoiding him now. He probably wants some privacy... Sherlock, I do not like your expression at all. There is a pure malice in your eyes."

"Privacy ... Hmmm ... It's time for Big Brother to taste his own medicine! Come on, John, we're going to Mycroft!"

"Greg, forgive me." John murmured and ran after his roommate, who was already in the door.


	4. A clear example of domestic violence

For the rest of the day, Mycroft ignored the phone and the rest of world. After all, Anthea should take care of everything. Unfortunately, even his extremely capable personal secretary couldn‘t stop the hurricane in the form of Sherlock Holmes. Mycroft's ignored the first nine door‘s rings, then he sighed and went to the intercom. Sherlock was yelling nonstop for more than five minutes.

"Mickeeeyyyyyyyyyyyy!!! Come on, my big bro, I know you are at home! I saw your fat head in the window! Open the door!" He shouted as he banged on the door. Doctor Watson tried to stop him but without any success. _The boy doesn‘t have a chance_. Mycroft thought bitterly. _Not without sedatives._

"Sherlock, please, not today. I am tired. Just for one only day, let me alone." He said truthfully through the intercom.

Sherlock frowned. _Something is off! Did_ _my brother_ _say, please?_ He whispered something to Dr Watson and then they both left the camera. Mycroft was surprised that his brother had surrendered so quickly, but he was too tired to give a shit. A just moment ago, he finally got rid of those bloody tulips. His eyes were still burning. Finally, he decided to give himself small reward for all this misery with a sixth piece of chocolate cake. _Thank god, Sherlock didn‘t come in… I am looking quite pathetic now._ Mycroft thought bitterly as he bit into a sweet cake. The security alarm started beeping. _Oh, he destroyed my window and went through the kitchen, didn‘t he?_ Mycroft wanted to hide. Or die. Sadly, he was too exhausted to move and he knew he can‘t run from Sherlock. Not now – it was too late.

"Wow, just wow! Two chocolate cakes and one is almost gone! There is somebody coming back to childhood!" Sherlock grinned as he entered the living room. But when he saw Mycroft, his smile immediately left his lips. Mycroft tried to straighten up as best as he could. Usually, he was extraordinary in pretending that everything is okay, now he doubted his abilities. During his life, Sherlock had seen many expressions on his brother‘s face (despite he always tries to hide them) but in such state, he saw him for the first time. _What is it? Shame? Uncertainty? Desperation? Pain? And what‘s that eye! No! What about those eyes ?!_

"How?" He asked as he watched him in horror.

"Sherlock ... Go home."

"No." Sherlock snorted angrily. Mycroft attempted to retreat, but Sherlock didn‘t let him. He caught his forearm to stop him in a motion. Poor surprised Mycroft screamed in agony. Sherlock stayed in shock, he let him.

"STOP MAKING EVERYTHING WORSE! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" Mycroft shouted and went to his bedroom. Sherlock didn‘t follow him. Mycroft was glad. He has never experienced such humiliation. The worst thing was, that Sherlock must have deducted immediately how Mycroft was incapacitated. He felt defeated. _It was a good idea to change a shirt. At least something…_

 

-II-

 

"What the heck was that?" John breathed as soon as they left Mycroft‘s mansion.

"I think it‘s obvious! That **bastard**! I am going to **kill him**."

"Sherlock, calm down! It may not be what it seems!"

" **May** , John?! Are you kidding me?! My brother, **my** **own poor brother**! It's evident that he was hiding his wounds, he had cried before we came and didn‘t go to work because he had a black eye. But that not all. He shuddered and was quite upset. Mycroft was afraid to talk to me! Not to mention, he has returned to overeating sweets due to stress! This is clearly an example of **domestic violence**!"

"But ... Greg ... we both know him, he woul-"

"Don‘t let sentiment to cloud your judgment. John, it‘s always the one you least expect. I'll take this case truly personally ... Which reminds me, what Lestrade wrote to you about **beating my big brother**?! John – **stop** trying to run! You can‘t win, I have longer legs! GIVE ME YOUR PHONE!"

"...No! I‘d rather… NO! Okay, you have the phone but I changed my passwo-… Sherlock, I am so sorry. I wasn‘t serious and I thought he was joking too… I couldn‘t have known!" John tried to apologize. In return, Sherlock looked at him with a murderous glance.

"... You advised him to be even **harder** on Mycroft and force him to **beg** on his knees?! GET OUT of this taxi!"

" **No**! Someone has to stop you, so you do not spend the rest of your days in prison!"

"Urgh! You aren‘t my mother, John! I can do what I want!"

"Sherlock!"

"Do not worry. I don‘t want to kill Lestrade… That would be too easy. He has to **suffer**. At first, I am going to detailly explain him, what will happen to him. And then I will pass him to Mycroft‘s people, a few who have been released from British services because of excessive brutality – I even have a phone number of some of them. And I guarantee that nobody will care of his disappearance. That case won‘t be ever **solved**!" John swallowed dry. Sometimes he forgot, how scary can Sherlock be. He did not say a word for the rest of the trip.


	5. High treason

After half an hour of silence, Mycroft became insecure. He had a bad feeling. So he took a phone and called Anthea.

"Where‘s my brother now?"

"Hmm ... Sherlock looked like thunder. He took a taxi to Skotlendyard, where he was looking for Inspector Lestrade, but when he found out, DI was on the field, he went straight to him."

Mycroft thought for a long time. _That‘s absurd ... It woul_ _dn‘t make any_ _... No. Well, for the calm_ _peace_ _of_ _my_ _soul…_ Mycroft wrote a short message to Inspector with the hope, that if his suspicions won‘t be met, he will take it as a joke.

**Run MH**

"Anthea, please send me current Gregory‘s address."

"Yes, sir. Can I have a question? Why isn‘t Inspector with you? I heard he volunteered for a case. The date didn‘t go well? Has something hap-" _Aaa he hanged up. Sometimes he behaves just like his younger brother._

 

-II-

 

Sherlock Holmes has never been known for inefficiency (rather the opposite), so he contacted Anthea during his way to Skotlendyard.

**Have you known it? SH**

Anthea sighed. She had a lot of work (because Mycroft took a day off) and she really wasn‘t in a mode for Sherlock. When she answered him, Sherlock was already on his way from Scotland Yard.

**What? A**

**Lestrade is killing my brother SH**

**Nonsense. Of course, if you don‘t count as killing being overwhelmed by love, which Mycroft deserves ... Don‘t ruin it. A**

**And the wounds Mycroft deserves too? Or do you ‚count‘ it as being overwhelmed by love? SH**

**What are you talking about? A**

**When was the last time you saw my brother? SH**

Anthea switched the channel to CCVXY87-IV. Mycroft was passing the front door, she took a detailed look at him and held her breath. Then she bit her lip angrily.

**I‘m sending you an armed unit from MI5. I have officially reclassified it to high treason A**

**Thank you, I appreciate it SH**

Anthea got up and charged her Glock. When Mycroft finds out, she‘ll lose her job anyway. So she‘ll take care of it personally. Finally, it was her fault that she didn‘t notice any indication! How was is possible! Lestrade passed through all the secret checks. The Inspector is obviously a professional. _I_ _t should be a piece of cake to catch him and bring to justice, but I have_ _a truly_ _bad feeling about it. I_ _‘_ _ll call_ _MI6, one can never be_ _sure_.

 

-II-

 

Mycroft put on his face the biggest black glasses he had found. The cover was necessary, although he felt like an idiot, _Oh god, I look like American._ But he didn‘t want to scare his Gregory. His bad feeling was growing. Without a word, he got into the car. This time he wished to be discreet so he had chosen a Škoda (nothing too fancy). He closed his eyes and lost his thoughts in sounds of the engine.

"We turned wrong," said Mycroft fully awake. _What‘s happening? Why doesn't An_ _drea_ _pick up her bloody phone_ _?_

"Shortcut, sir."

"I doubt it." Mycroft snapped. The driver loudly sighed. He pulled a filtering mask over his mouth and murmured:

"Forgive me." Then he pressed a button under the driver seat. In an instant, the car was filling with some kind of (sleeping) gas. Mycroft didn‘t even blink, unlike cooking this was his daily bread. _The windows are controlled by the driver. In this car speed, it would be to_ _o_ _risky try_ _take_ _his mask. And I know he is stronger than me. Hmm… in that case._

With a smooth motion he pulled a revolver from his umbrella and shot the window next to the driver. Glass filled up the front of the car. The driver immediately hit the brake. With the desperate expression of a man who is going to die, he stared directly into Mycroft Holmes‘s icy calm expression. After 15 years of loyal service he hoped, Holmes would have a mercy but Mycroft didn‘t move his gun from his face. The gas was running out through the hole in the window.

"George, it‘s time to get out of the car… Oh, George, you probably did not understand, that was not a proposal." But George didn‘t move. His tears were falling on his frightened face and he prayed to his goddess, to be gracious to him.

"No." George said defiantly to his own surprise.

"No?" Mycroft arched his eyebrow. He didn‘t expect such answer (or any answer to be honest).

"No, sir." George said hurriedly.

"Who‘s commanding you?" Asked Mycroft authoritatively.

"48A."

"Georgy, this is an emergency evacuation code."

"Yes, sir. And it was called on you." He answered in a shaky voice as Mycroft torn him to pieces with his icy stare. _He isn‘t lying. No, he is still loyal like he has ever been. So the true question is who_ _promoted her/himself over me? Who orders in my name? 48A is my code._

" **Who?!** " Asked Mycroft and Geroge nearly pissed himself, still, he didn‘t answer. _I have no time for this._ Though older Holmes tiredly.

"Get out of this car." He commanded.

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!" George squeaked gratefully and despite his initial resentment, he quickly ran out of the car. With his sleeve, Mycroft removed shards from the driver seat before he sat there. He didn‘t even start the car when some passerby pulled a gun and shot his tires. _Someone obviously_ _trying to stop or at least delay me_ _. Oh, Gregory. This does not look good._

Fortunately, Mycroft never had just one ace in his sleeve. A phone call after phone call, his aces fell. He almost began to tear his hair in panic. _What‘s going on?! A_ _ndrea_ _, a long-standing alliance, subordinate and_ _even_ _those who owe me_ _a favo_ _u_ _r_ _? Who has succeeded_ _so_ _perfectly in_ _ **replacing me**_ _within_ _ **one**_ _fucking day? Hell!_ _I did not want to do it, but I have no choice._ _It‘s t_ _ime_ _for_ _a more_ _heavy calibr_ _e_ _._


	6. What makes you think I‘m not his spy?

"Acho-Achooo!"

"Bless you." Said Donovan to Greg with a kind smile.

"Ta," Greg answered and went to the toilets. _The second coffee was a bad idea._ Though he. He was immediately followed by young SI Jonathan Heminqey, who looked like he was waiting a really long time for an opportunity to go pee.

_Good lad this Jonathan._ _It was nice of him, that he brought me the coffee for no reason. Maybe I looked like I need it…_ The toilets weren‘t very clean but at least they didn‘t stink. No one else was there so Greg said.

"You know, it‘s funny, but for a long time I thought you were a spy, who Mycroft sent on me." Jonathan‘s stream stopped and his eyes widened.

"W-why? Wait. Who is Mycroft? And you mean like a real spy? Are we in the movie? Ha-hah..."

"Haha! I know, it‘s ridiculous! Mycroft is Sherlock‘s older brother and my boyfriend."

"Why would your boyfriend sent a spy on you, like some crazy stalker?"

"Oh, Mycroft maybe has a little stalker complex. I even found three cameras in my apartment." He did not mention those 4 in Scotland Yard for obvious reasons.

"Wow!  Shouldn‘t you press charges against him? "  Jonathan asked carefully. Greg grinned.

"Don‘t worry, he is not dangerous – eh, well he is only paranoid. Sometimes he is like my mother: ‚Gregory, have you eaten?‘ or ‚Gregory, you really wish to wear this shirt?‘ "

"Hahaha. Hmm, but Boss, what makes you think I‘m **not** his spy?"

"I‘ve changed my mind after you punched Sherlock when you met him for the first time." Jonathan smiled as he remembered that day. Never in his whole life had he bigger feeling of satisfaction than when he hit the bastard. And why shouldn‘t he? Mycroft pays him for the protection of Lestrade, not his brother. At that time, Jonathan smartly wrote in the report that Sherlock was threatening Lestrade. He got a small bonus with an attached message: ‚Good job but do it next time and it will cost you your job.‘ When he thought about it now, punch Sherlock was his best career choice he ever made. His phone beeped. **His second** one.

"I‘m sorry, that‘s mum. I have to-" Greg smiled. _He is so young… so shy that_ _every time they call him_ _from_ _home, he_ _hides_ _somewhere_ _so_ _nobody can hear_ _him._ He heard Jonathan‘s horrified voice in the distance. _I hope it‘s_ _nothing serious._ Greg zipped up his trouser when he noticed, he got a text.

**Run MH**

Jonathan returned as pale as a wall. He was muttering:

"…It can‘t be true…"

"What is not true? What‘s wrong? Okay, you don‘t have to say me… Hey, I got a really weird text from Mycroft now." Greg said nervously and showed Jonathan his phone screen. In that moment Jonathan seemed to have decided something. He quickly pulled out his hearing aid and grabbed Greg‘s phone, he threw both into the toilet.

"What the hell!" Nearly shouted Greg but Jonathan had stopped him.

"Greg, all your suspicions were right. My name isn‘t Jonathan, I never needed a hearing aid – it‘s an emergency transmitter and I was 24 three years ago. As for your cell phone, it‘s hacked. You‘ll be better off without it. Shh! Do not talk! There is no time. Now listen to me! I was here for your protection, but now my order has changed. I should arrest you for high treason."

"W-what ?! That's a pretty stupid joke, Jonathan!"

"Silence." He barked with an army authoritative tone. Greg obeyed. _Oh, holy f_ _uck. This is real._

"There are three other agents besides me. Meg Lee, Michel David and Roberta Bryndon."

_In other words, every cop here except Donovan and Anderson. Thank God, these two are normal._

"In a case of resistance, I‘m **allowed** to use violence. They certainly got the same orders. I‘ll tell them I read the orders later. But you do not have much time. Run through the back window in that toilet cabin."

"I don‘t get it! How did I commit a fucking treason?!! Why the hell should I run away?! What will happen to me if I don‘t? And why are you helping me at all?"

"I ... Gregory Lestrade, I‘ve been watching over you for five years since you officially started working with Sherlock Holmes. The accusation denies everything that I know about you."

"But **what** am I accused of?!"

"High treason for threatening the fate of the British Government."

"WHAT?"

"Shh! Somebody is coming! **Go**!" And Greg ran. He closed himself in the cabin with a small window.

"Hans, did you get the new orders? Hmm... where‘s your transmitter?" Greg recognized the voice of Meg Lee.

"It broke up, so I got rid of it." Lee slapped Jonathan/Hans.

" Are you stupid? Do you  have any idea how expensive these things are  ?! Have you tried turning it off and on again? Well, I suppose it doesn‘t matter now.  That‘s just your problem . Where is Lestrade?"

" In that toilet cabin. He has constipation .  But d on‘t worry, there‘s no  window in that cabin. Let him take his time…  Do you  really think he did  it ?" Lied Hans.  Meanwhile,  Greg  _almost_ crawled through the window.  _Uh fuck. I am growing fat!_

"…Hans, we‘re in undercover as cops. We‘ve seen hundreds of similar cases. How many of us have seen good men who beat their women with the same smile, with which they welcomed us at the front door? True, it‘s hard to believe, that the Ice Man became his victim, but you know Lestrade drinks. Maybe then ... Mycroft Holmes is too proud to ever admit he needs help. So it‘s up to us to arrange it for him. This country needs Holmes, not any broken wreck. And yes, that‘s exactly what he‘ll become if we let it continue. What was that sound?... Hans? ... You just let him run through the window, didn‘t you?" Hans nodded and put his head in his hands.

"They'll send you for this on that suicide mission in Siberia," Lee said quietly.

"I know... I know..." Sobbed Hans.


	7. Why couldn‘t Mycroft work in Tesco?

Greg ran. _Where can I hide? Fuck, if I hadn‘t hesit_ _at_ _ed, I would have a bigger lead. But what the hell was it?! Am I an_ _ **abuser**_ _now?_ _I would have_ _ **never**_ _hurt Mycroft! Oh gosh,_ _I have to call him! But first I have to hide somewhere!_ Greg looked around. The murder happened at a cheap hotel, which was connected to a petrol station on the outskirts of London. Apart from the main road was the hotel surrounded only by fields. Try to escape through open terrain would be (without any doubt) suicide. _It isn‘t even dark yet._ _No,_ _I_ _have to_ _go_ _back and hide somewhere, before_ _I find the way how to get_ _help._

Greg glimpsed an unproperly closed window. Without thinking he thrust it with his elbow. The window opened and Greg slipped inside. Then he heard the footsteps. Greg crouched down to the ground. Behind the window walked two men in black suits, both fully armed. _That was a close shave._ He quickly looked around the room. It was empty. _I am lucky… I guess._ He thought hysterically. _Urgh! Think! What would Mycroft do in_ _my_ _place? Well, he would call them off, because they are his **bloody** people! Is this his normal way, how to break-up with someone? Will they exile me on some secret island of My‘s former lovers? No, __that‘s bullshit. Mycroft would probably ignore me and cut all connections or just tell me like grown up… Oh, shit. That text._ _ **Run MH**_ _I am an idiot. Of course, he didn‘t order it. But they are his people… Is he losing control? My, I hope you are okay… **Fuck** … So what would Sherlock do in my place? He would solve the murder, obviously. Shit. __Trying to think like Holmes didn‘t help at all. Hmm, what would_ _ **I**_ _do?_ _I can‘t stay here too long. Anyway, the homicide is_ _an_ _odd one. Made in affection. And fury. With so many stab wounds the culprit_ _had to be covered in blood. Still, not even a drop left the room. If Sherlock was here, I am sure, it would be solved already. Ahh._ Greg looked around again. More thoroughly.

 _I am in_ _the_ _warehouse next to the room with_ _the_ _victim._ _It‘s time to decide what will I do. I can‘t run around without a plan. Hell. Why has to My work for secret service? Why couldn‘t he work in Tesco? Fuck it, I will hide here. But where? Maybe in that big stack of toilet paper? Oh my god, Greg!_ _They are probably super spies!_ _There is no way, that they wouldn't find me in some big stack of toilet paper! Wait!_ _What was that rustle? Where is it coming from?!_

Greg held his breath. _From_ _the ground._ He drew aside a carpet. Beneath it was a wooden square in the floor. _Obviously an old hiding place for wine_. Greg grinned. _Perfect_ _._ _Although_ _I_ _have to move_ _current_ _the tenant out._ He pulled out his gun. _Whoever is inside, s/he probably didn‘t cover the spot with the carpet._

"Shh ... The air is clean. You can go out now." He loudly whispered and tapped the wood.

"Are the cops away? Ufffff ... I almost have to piss myse- Wait! Who the heck are you? Oh, did my Mother told you everything?" Said young voice from below. _A_ _n a_ _mateur_.

"Yeah, she did. Now open the door till you have a chance." Greg answered a little bit more intense tone than he intended _._ But the young man obeyed. With a silent click, the hatch was lifted and a surprised head glanced at Greg. The initial shock of seeing an unfamiliar face quickly shifted into panic as the boy saw the barrel of the gun. Greg immediately held boy‘s mouth with his hand.

 _I was right. That blood **is** everywhere. But the shelter looks a bit bigger than I expected ... Maybe we can both fit in there. I can‘t let the boy run away. He would tell them, where he was – where I am. _ _And won‘t find better hiding place than this._

"Shut up. Under normal circumstances, I would immediately arrest you for the murder of V. Ictim, but now some really bad guys are chasing me. Like those in movies, they will just shoot you without asking any questions. So be a good lad and pressed yourself closer to a wall. I am going in. Oh, and if you wish to live, keep your mouth shut." Greg commanded and felt like a mafia boss. _The_ _Boy_ _is_ _most p_ _robably Julius McMustaf_ _a_ _, a classmate of_ _the_ _victim, whose mother is a co-owner_ _of this hotel_ _, so she most likely_ _has_ _kn_ _own_ _about this hiding place. Becca was beautiful plus popular. The m_ _otive for murder_ _will be simple_ _._ Julius jaw dropped. _He looked like he just pissed himself. Thank god, I can‘t smell anything t_ _hrough the s_ _cent_ _of_ _cleaning chemicals._ _Certainly his mother‘s work._

"Before I go, give me your weapon." The boy nodded stiffly and handed Greg a Swiss knife. Over the dried blood, Greg did not see the blade. _23 blows. The kid is seriously ill. Is it really a good idea to be pressed on him in such a small space? Well, it‘s not like I have another option... Mycroft is right. I am a fool._

Greg pushed the boy back into the hole. He noticed, that there was very a small hook on the hatch and got an idea. Smoothly he hooked it to the carpet. When he got inside, he quickly pulled the hatch over. With a silent pleasure, he stared at the carpet through breathing holes. _Hmm, this shelter is too spacious for hiding wine… But too little to smuggle people (hopefully). What is that smell? Ahh, guns. Luckily it isn‘t used anymore… Does the boy have to breath_ _e_ _so fucking loudly?!_

"Cool down. Nothing has changed. As you planned, we‘ll wait for the night, till the police interest falls off. Then you will be free," _to spend some years in prison_.

"Anyway, Julius, do you have a cell phone?" Julius jerked when Greg said his name. _Green grass._

"No, I don‘t. Boss." Julius apologized and calmed down. _So my only option is_ _to_ _wait_ _in nearly complete darkness_ _with a brutal psychopathic killer._ _Great._


	8. Never rely on Sherlock Holmes

After 40 minutes Julius reached his mental maximum. For some time, he stopped care about Greg‘s threats and started squirming. Especially when one group of angry agents changed another just to curse Greg‘s name.

"What are we doing here?! It‘s only one fucking copper! No super agent! It is more than obvious, that he is not here anymore! He got in the first car, he had seen! Ouch! Why the fuck are you hitting me?! I was just saying the truth."

"Since the order came, two agents from MI5 checked every car, which stopped to refuel. Lestrade could escape this area only if he would leave his workplace before the end of working time. But that is excluded due to his psychological profile. And he had no reason. Besides, you idiot, if you bother to read the report, you would know that old copper had learned about the operation from a young MI6 agent. That moron has signed his death sentence. I‘m so ashamed of him. He is a disgrace to us all."

"I am rather wondering why we keep Lestrade‘s people here. Ouch!"

"You mean the former couple? Both are brainless, they are no safety risk. And we keep them here for two simple reasons. First, there is the stupid murder, which formally falls under them. I have no idea who would want to do their paperwork. Secondly, they have been working with Lestrade longer with than any of our agents. Maybe they will think more like him. Lestrade is there for the first time in his life! Holy fuck! He couldn‘t just vanish!"

Julius snapped. _That‘s his limit._ Greg realized, he pulled his gun and hit Julius on the back of his neck. The boy lost consciousness before he could reveal their position. _Don‘t worry, I am not like you. You will just sleep for awhile…_ _I hope the two didn‘t hear that._

"What it was?!"

"No idea, probably another group in the next room. Hmm ... Did you hear that?"

"Code S221BH. Why are they bothered with coding? This guy does not run around like Rambo with a radio and digging holes to hide!"

"Actually I wouldn't be surprised if he has. A group of more than 100 agents is looking for him for 45 minutes in a small area and we still have nothing. I am telling you, Oskar, this guy is as smart as a fox. He had to infiltrate another group of agents. If he didn‘t move constantly, we would find him after a first 5 minutes ... It is a pity, he will end in such cruel and painful way, I would gladly welcome him in our ranks."

"-The M65 unit is reporting: clean- ... Now the toilets? Again? We were there 10 minutes ago! Ouch! I get it, I‘m going!"

The agents left the room. Finally, could Greg take a deep breath. But it wasn‘t really worth that effort. The air in the shelter smelled of sweat mixed with blood and raw expectation. Lestrade‘s heart was beating like crazy. _That‘s how I'm going to die. A fucking heart attack_. Greg was just checking if Julius was still breathing when he heard the familiar baritone from the next room.

"… Oh yes, the murder. Quite a dull one. On the way we met a murderer‘s mother, who confessed everything. The culprit is Julius McMustafa. The victim turned him down and he went berserk. Essentially murder for ‚love‘. Ironic timing, isn‘t it?"

With the already familiar silent click, Lestrade uncovered the hatch of his hiding place. He was relieved when he hadn‘t seen anybody around. _They all have to be in the next room with Sherlock. That man is a magnet for trouble. But thank god, he is here. Who else would help me?_ Slowly he climbed up. He really was alone. Suddenly he realized he was staring at still unconscious Julius. _He‘s a damn murderer, but I can not just leave him here._ Greg carefully pulled him out and handcuffed him to a shelf.

"What‘s going on, freak? Why are all these people looking for Lestrade!" Anderson shouted desperately.

"Lestrade-" Sherlock began.

"Lestrade is here." Greg finished his sentence instead. All eyes turned on him. _Their faces would make the best Christmas postcard ever._ Twelve people stared at him in disbelief. _Like I came from the_ _death._ After being pressed on Julius, his clothes got dirty with blood. Sherlock recovered from a shock first. He went straight toward Greg. _How else._ _Usually_ _,_ _you can‘t rely on him, but_ _when shits get serious, he would never let you down._

"Sherlock, you have to hel-" He didn‘t finish, because Sherlock had punched him. Greg cried out in pain as Sherlock dislocated his jaw.

"False. I don‘t have to do anything. And if only a single drop of blood turns to be Mycroft‘s, I swear, you will beg me to end your miserable life." _Sherlock,_ _you bloody fucker._ _Why I always rely on you?!_

"Sherlock! You have agreed to give him a chance to explain it!" Shouted John angrily.

"Well, John, what prevents you? Carry your interrogation." Said Sherlock grimly. Several agents laughed. _Son of_ _a_ _bitch_. John kindly reached for Greg.

"Ah. This will hurt. I‘m sorry, mate." Greg only nodded and clenched his fists. He was prepared. The Military Doctor threw Greg‘s jaw into its original position with one move full of experience. But still, it hurt incredibly. Speaking wasn‘t possible for him. So he obeyed all the agent‘s instructions. Greg kneeled down on both knees and put his hands behind his head. They immediately disarmed him. _Oh, Mycroft. This does not look good_ _at all_ _._


	9. James Bond finally arrived

 

Greg was ready to die. Seriously. He had no idea how his quiet routine day had changed into a hunt for Greg Lestrade, but he understood that resisting would be useless. With his hands folded behind his head, he took an another slow step toward a black armoured van. Occasionally, some agent pushed him to go faster, but Greg did not change his pace. In the end, it was always just a provocation over which even Sherlock crinkled his nose in disapproval. John looked torn apart. _Hmm, he also_ _believes I_ _could_ _hurt Mycroft. But I_ _would never… Why am_ _I_ _trying to convince mysel_ _f_ _? T_ _his is a fucking Sherlock Holmes, he knows better than you. Perhaps it‘s_ _for best_ _that they caught me before I did something to My. I don‘t believe I could live_ _with myself_ _if I deliberately hurt him…_ _Maybe they‘ve revealed some psychological deformity from work and_ _I_ _was on my way becom_ _e_ _second Moriarty._ _Uh-_ _Oh,_ _I am_ _starting to_ _overreact_ _again._ _S_ _top. This isn‘t my division, I am not a Holmes._

Lost in thoughts, he bumped into an agent in front of him, who suddenly stopped. Like everyone. Then he heard the sound. He turned his head and saw _a bloody army helicopter_. The light blinded him for a few seconds. Greg could see anything, but he would recognize the voice from the megaphone anytime. _My James Bond finally arrived_.

"GOOD EVENING. THIS IS MYCROFT HOLMES SPEAKING. IMMEDIATELY STEP BACK FROM THE MAN! OR MY PILOT WILL SHOOT YOU. AND WHILE WE ARE TALKING, THE ATTACK UNITS ARE SURROUNDERING THE AREA. I REPEAT. STEP BACK FROM GREGORY LESTRADE!"

The wicked smile of winners died on a lip of every agent. They all froze in spot. Only Greg brightened up. To Greg‘s surprise, they obeyed and made a 5-meter wide circle around him. Yet, he felt more vulnerable than before. His police senses were screaming. He could feel dozens of guns pointing at him. The sharp reflector from the helicopter still blinded him. Greg felt like a deer before the truck hit it. _Defenseless._ Greg stuttered his ears as the helicopter approached. His shirt, which was stuck to his skin with sweat, blew with the wind. _What a power!_ He hadn‘t even noticed that the circle around him had spread, so the helicopter could land. But Mycroft didn‘t want to land. A rope ladder fell from the helicopter two meters from Greg. However, Greg didn‘t manage to use it – another voice had stopped him.

"I AM SORRY TO SAY IT MR HOLMES. BUT THE OPERATION CONTINUES. LESTRADE! IF YOU JUST TOUCH THE LADDER, YOU ARE A DEATH MAN. AND YOU SIR, YOU ARE NOT IN COMMAND. PLEASE, FLY AWAY WITH ALL YOUR MINIONS OR WE CAN‘T GUARANTEE LESTRADE‘S SAFETY!"

Greg swallowed. But although he didn‘t move, the ladder began to sway. Someone was climbing down. _Indeed_ , it was a man in a bespoken suit. _My James Bond._ Despite the huge pain in his lower jaw, Greg grinned like crazy. Mycroft elegantly landed on the ground and gave the helicopter a sign of departure. Before he adjusted his tie, he brushed himself off. Finally, he looked at Greg, who nearly fainted, when he saw him. _God in heaven! What_ _has_ _happened to him? Torn movements._ _He didn‘t properly use his_ _left hand. Something is hurting him._ _Gosh_ _! Is that a black eye?!_ _N_ _ow I understand_ _the origins of my accusations! Even though_ _I don‘t know, how_ _Sherlock could have_ _thought,_ _I‘d_ _be able to_ _hurt him like that!_

"My, are you-" Greg began, but the helicopter drowned out his voice. He wanted to run to Mycroft. Check all his wounds. Comfort his sad eyes. However Mycroft stopped him with one hand gesture and Greg, full of despair, obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is short, but I promise the next one (Grand finale) would be quite long and bloody funny. So stay tuned :). Btw sorry for the angst.


	10. Shakira

"Could we go faster?" Mycroft asked impatiently.

"Wow, boss. This is maximal allowed speed over residential areas."

"Ah, I am sorry. I am a little bit upset." Mycroft rubbed his temples. The pilot with the crew of the helicopter exchanged a frightened glance. ‚Seriously, the boss said _a little bit_ upset?!‘ Copilot nodded in answer and slightly accelerated.

Mycroft was glad he decided to take the helicopter. From a height, he could more quickly see a full range of situation. What he saw, froze his blood in his veins. _Even_ _**they**_ _?!_ _Oh Lord_ _,_ _which_ _monster_ _is_ _commanding such a huge operation? There are probably all the security forces_ _of_ _Great Britain_ _!_

As soon as they more approached (another 200 yards), Mycroft intensively searched for Greg. _He lives. But where_ _are_ _they_ _taking_ _him? For what purpose?_ Mycroft gave the co-pilot a set of instructions.

"Now!" He commanded, the ray of light found Gregory. _If_ _it is_ _his_ _blood, I swear_ _to God I_ _– calm down!_ _On_ _these places_ _it truly couldn‘t_ _belong to Gregory. Think rationally! Feelings aside. As Uncle Roby_ _used to_ _sa_ _y_ _._ Mycroft took a deep breath and put the megaphone to his mouth.

"GOOD EVENING. THIS IS MYCROFT HOLMES SPEAKING. IMMEDIATELY STEP BACK FROM THE MAN! OR MY PILOT WILL SHOOT YOU. WHILE WE ARE TALKING, THE ATTACK UNITS ARE SURROUNDERING THE AREA. I REPEAT. STEP BACK FROM GREGORY LESTRADE!" He motioned with his little finger to launch the ladder. _Hold on Gregory_.

The answer from below was the last straw for Mycroft. The man tried to mask his voice, but Mycroft recognized him. _With a_ _n_ _8_ _9_ _% probability_ _the_ _head_ _of_ _MI5_ _Monty_ _Penny_ _. I‘ll have your head_ _f_ _or this._

"What are the orders, Boss?"

"Depart. Let them get a false hope. If I don‘t respond within half an hour, start shooting." Mycroft commanded in a cold rage.

"Yes, sir."

 _What I don‘t do_ _my_ _self!_ Mycroft thought as he climbed the ladder. Although he was climbing quite cautiously, he felt every his wound. _Christ_ _!_ _Why has to everything happened in one day? T_ _he most ironic thing is, that our last_ _row was about ‚_ _my exaggerated_ _behaviour_ _‘. I guess, this event_ _means an_ _end_ _for_ _our relationship anyway. Oh,_ _my_ _Gregory…_ He finally reached the land and carefully examined his partner with an eagle eye. _He‘s_ _terrified_ _._ _Is he saying something?_ _No_ _Mycroft, stop the feelings,_ _now more than ever_ _Gregory needs_ _you to keep a cool head_ _... Thank God, that blood_ _really_ _can‘t be his…_

The helicopter flew off. There was a pregnant silence. Mycroft pulled a small transmitter, which he used as a microphone, so everyone could hear him clearly.

"Straight to business, who is in command?" He asked icily.

_How can he be so calm ?! Of course. For Myc, this is probably just another Monday. God Greg, this should n‘t make you aroused ._

"Authority M-1CR0." The MI6 agent responded in the same way as Mycroft (he was afraid, that if he used a megaphone, Mycroft would find him in a crowd). But the identity of the man, who he had already recognized, was the last thing on Mycroft's actual list of concerns.

"But that‘s me!" He grunted in shock. The agents nodded. _So,_ _anyone_ _had_ _the courage_ _to pretend he was me? What_ _a shame, that this_ _was_ _the last thing, he ever did in his life._ Nevertheless, he was truly relieved. _Nobody has replaced me. Moreover, I have control over the situation!_ Mycroft grinned predatorily.

"In that case, I cancel all your‘s orders and this operation. Go home." No one moved. _What the hell! Am I in_ _charge_ _or not?!_

Anthea stepped out of the crowd. _Traitor! I did not expect it from her._ _You will pay for this!_

"Sir. Your security authority has exceeded your person at the moment." Mycroft gasped.

"What kind of bullshit is that?"

"Oi! Mycroft, don‘t swear! What would our mother say to you?" Sherlock scolded him. Mycroft did not believe his ears. _No, this has to be a_ _bad dream_!

"Sherlock you are here too?! **Enough**! Anthea, report. Summarize the facts."

"Well Sherlock," _Of course. Who the fucking else!_ Anthea couldn‘t hear Mycroft's angry (and vulgar) thoughts, so she continued:

"alerted me to some disturbing findings, which were further discussed at the meeting-"

"Who was at the meeting?" Mycroft asked, looking through the crowd. He was sure of three. Anthea cleared her throat nervously. If she gave away a single name, she could lose everything (even her life).

"It was a secret meeting, sir." Now he was sure of five.

"Continue. What was a conclusion of the 'secret' meeting?"

"Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade shifts your relationship to the limits of psychic and physical abuse. Your person has been evaluated by all participant of the meeting to be too important to let the situation continue. We can‘t risk you, sir." Mycroft blinked twice in surprise.

"W-What led you to such an absurd idea, that the Inspector is mistreating me?" Mycroft couldn't believe his ears. Sherlock just snorted.

"Come on, Mycroft! Just look at yourself! I hope you don‘t want to claim you did it to **yourself**!" Mycroft blushed. _How awkwardly embarrassing..._ _In addition, I can not mention the temporary storage of weapons for the Melfisto unit in front_ _their rivals, the_ _members_ _of_ _SG-8. Likewise, it would be quite unwise_ _to_ _confess to my Tulip's allergy. I have_ _long sleeves,_ _so_ _they can‘t know about_ _my burned hand_ _..._

"Actually, that‘s exactly what has happened. I fell down the stairs."

"Oh really? And how did you got the black eye?" Critically asked the 2nd head of the MI5.

"It was a very funny incident, I bumped into the door." There was a sound of hundreds release of safety catches. Even Sherlock lost his temper.

"Oh God, Lestrade! You are a cop! It is beyond doubt, that you have met dozens domestic abuse victims and this is the best excuse you gave him? You are offending us all here!" Mycroft was horrified. _I‘ve made it worse_.

"Do not be ridiculous. Use your deduction skill, which you are so proud of. Look at my eye. From the colour, it‘s more than obvious that, I got it only a few hours ago. And as Anthea can surely testify, I was alone all day. I haven‘t met Gregory today."

"But that isn‘t entirely true, right, sir?" Anthea said cautiously.

"What are you indicating?" Mycroft frowned. _Gregory,_ _why are_ _you_ _squirming?_

"At 13:21 was entered the SILVER-FOX code, which is a unique code, you gave to Lestrade a week ago. Its execution involved shutting down all camera and security devices at your mansion. Because no other instruction was issued, the servers automatically turned on after an hour. In other words, we have a record when Inspector Lestrade came, but no when he returned. Still, due to the colour of your eye, as you so kindly mentioned, we can confirm with 100% certainty that your injuries occurred during the time of Lestrade‘s visit."

 _Aw_ _! I didn't expect that... Gregory obviously_ _wanted_ _to surprise me. How sweet. Unfortunately,_ _he couldn‘t pick_ _worse timing. 13:22 ... Yes, definitely. The time when I sent him a_ _text_ _about cance_ _l_ _ling our meeting ... He had to be at the front door wh_ _ile_ _he got it. So he had know_ _n_ _I was home and_ _just_ _didn‘t want to see him. I could run professional courses_ _about_ _ruining_ _relation_ _ships_ _remotely ... What now? What are my options?_ _E_ _very_ _my_ _word_ _is another nail in the coffin of Gregory‘s destruction._ _Owww_ _..._ _What a_ _horrible idea! Think Mycroft, think!_

Greg Lestrade remained silent. Mycroft looked completely crushed. _I have to admit that I am beginning to believe my accusations_. He chuckled. To his surprise, several agents heard him and gave him an angry glance.

 _God, My_ _c_ _stop looking_ _like a kicked puppy._ _You should be the one, who always has_ _some_ _genius_ _plan._ _The defeat does_ _n_ _‘t suit you,_ _where is your_ _theatrical_ _spirit?…Ohhh. Good idea._ _I‘_ _ll not get out of this anyway,_ _so why not to leave in a big style? ...And if I give My a reason to hate me,_ _maybe_ _he won‘t_ _despite_ _himself for the rest of his life._

"Okay, you got me! Game over. Mycroft you can drop the act! Hmm... I am missing something. Can I get a microphone too?" John, Sherlock and every person, who met Lestrade before, literally jerked from Greg‘s unexpected change of behaviour. But the most struck was Mycroft. Suddenly Greg moved with big gestures as if he had a ton of confidence and no fear. He quickly reached for the agent with the radio. Greg gripped it dramatically. _I_ _f they want a cruel aggressor, they will have it. I_ _am going to enjoy_ _this show_.

"I admit everything. What more, I will happily describe it to you. A little step by step. How good I felt when I took his head and-"

"Gregory stop! What-" Greg was incredibly glad, that Mycroft had interrupted him. Frankly, he had no clue what should he say next. He tried to recall some nasty crap, which abusers were often bragging about. But honestly, he had never endured them for too long. _Freestyle is harder than I expected._ _Better to let things simple_ _._

"For the first time, I realized that I enjoyed seeing him in pain was, when I accidentally spilt a hot tea on him. Then it escalated... Right My Mickey?!" Mycroft blushed with anger. _Is_ _he_ _trying to get killed?!_ _Or force me to commit a suicide from embarrassment?_ _In any case! I will never let that happen._

"Shut up! Stop pretending you have some control over me! I am in charge here!" Mycroft snapped and gave Greg in particular ice-cold glance. A few agents questioned their mission, Holmes looked efficient as ever. But Greg just smirked madly.

"Oh, Pudding. Don‘t make such face! A couple of hours ago you were saying the exact opposite. On the other hand, I suppose, everybody sounds a little different on their knees." _You think you provoke me_ _and win_ _?_ _Well, Gregory prepared to be disap_ _p_ _ointed_ _._ _Holmes never lose._ Though Mycroft, who came with a new strategy how to save Greg.

"Gregory! We had agreed that you will only call me that way in the bedroom!" Said Mycroft looking hurt. _That_ _was_ _damn good! He_ _should become an actor_ _. Then the worst thing_ _which_ _could_ _happen, would be_ _some_ _inappropriate photos in the_ _Sun_ _and not a meeting of super agents all hot to see my corpse._ _Hmm, when we are speaking about_ _h_ _o_ _t._ _I'm curious_ _how much of_ _ **hotness**_ _will Mr_ _Chaste_ _handle_ _before he collapse_ _s_ _._

"Perhaps, you forgot your place. Who do you think you are to order me around?! And address me, **sir**! Or do you want me to punish you again?"

"Hmm... Maybe that‘s exactly what I want." Greg blushed. _How can_ _he_ _look so innocent when he says such thing_ _s?_

"Sir!" Anthea squeaked in shock.

"So many genius brains, and yet to none of you occurred, that Gregory wasn‘t torturing me, but on the contrary was satisf-"

"SILENCE! Do not finish it, brother!" Sherlock yelled (already traumatised) and plugged his ears desperately.

"I am surprised, it‘s you my little brother, who is disgusted, after your affair with England‘s most famous dominatrix Irene Addler." Mycroft smirked. He hoped Sherlock was out of the game. However, how he did for many times, Mycroft had underestimated his brother.

"Nonsense! Don‘t be fooled! My brother has no tendency to BDSM! He is only trying to protect Lestrade at all costs, it‘s a typical syndrome of abused wives." But Mycroft‘s words had already cast doubts on some agent‘s mind. The top of them had the honour to meet Mycroft Holmes for many times. With his dominant omnipotent attitude, they could easily imagine him being a fan of these practices, although they expected him to be on the other side of the table than what the nickname "Pudding" suggested. 

"You didn‘t have such urges in any previous relationship," Anthea said in agreement with Sherlock.

"Darling, even you don‘t know everything about me ... Although you‘re right. It was Gregory, who came up with the idea, which brought our love life to the next level. Though he has gone a little wild today. The deal was nothing above a collar." Greg chuckled. The expression on Sherlock‘s face nearly compensated this terrible day.

"Oh, Pudding, you know how I like breaking the rules." Greg said so lewdly that Mycroft blushed. John felt awful (first embarrassing and second wrong, because he doubted Greg). On the other hand, he was delighted to see Sherlock in misery, so he picked up a microphone.

"Okay, if you like BDSM prove it." Sherlock almost fainted. Mycroft raised both his eyebrows.

"Do you mean a visual demonstration, Dr Watson?" John put himself to enormous shame. He did not mean it! Despite he had to admit it sounded exactly like that. Greg wanted so badly laugh like several less professional agents had (the rest kept their poker face and laughed inside), but he controlled himself.

"Ehh... I was thinking more about naming some practices or something." John said red as a beetroot.

"Mate, you got a google for that." Greg remarked, unable to not notice how relieved Mycroft looked. They didn‘t speak of any special practices yet, but he certainly was not a supporter of anything painful. Greg had the same view. _Ho_ _w_ _e_ _v_ _er_ _... I_ _decided_ _I was going to be_ _cruel_ _._ _Don‘t think it‘s going to be so easy for you, My._

"But if you want a personal tip, I will, of course, give it to you. As your good friend."

"Gregory, please," begged Mycroft silently, fully aware that he wouldn‘t like whatever will Greg say. _No,_ _he would not_ _say_ _anything from our_ _ **intimate**_ _life_ _in front of them all_ _!_ _ **F**_ _ **or God‘s sake**_ _,_ _I‘_ _m_ _ **working**_ _with these people!_ Greg smiled reassuringly at him. Mycroft breathed a sigh of pure relief ...Til Greg spoke.

"I swear, nothing can get Mycroft more aroused than when I put on my old police uniform, which is a sexy tight on me now, handcuff him to central heating, turn on Shakira - his libido goes always crazy while he listens to her, so I turn the volume to full blast and command ‚shake it‘!" Greg said with a serious face _. Well,_ _I am thanked,_ _that_ _Sherlock ha_ _d dislocated_ _my jaw. If it didn't hurt so much, I would have laughed here_ _like some madman_ _._ _Mycroft will sooo kill me for this._

He wasn‘t far from the truth. Mycroft, during Greg‘s theatrical speech (accompanied by obscene movement of his hips), choked and went scarlet. In his life, Mycroft had never a problem with finding words. He always just decided not to use them. _Until today._ Now, was Mycroft speechless again. This time, because he couldn‘t even think for the gigantic shame that was eating him alive. Of course, there is wasn‘t a bit of truth in Greg‘s statement. _Good_ _Lord_ _, I didn‘t_ _even_ _get_ _him_ _in_ _his_ _old uniform!_ _Ho_ _w_ _e_ _v_ _er,_ _it doesn‘t matter – secret agents are the biggest gossips in the world. Oh, when I remember,_ _how they use to call me Ice Man with fear behind my back…_ _Maybe I could rename today_ _as_ _the day_ _when_ _Ice Man died_   _with_ _all my_ _ **dignity**_ _._

The first who started was Sherlock, he began to laugh like a small child till his stomach ached. Then it was a simple chain reaction. After a few seconds, all agents were laughing like lunatics, who they probably were, considering it was Mycroft Holmes, who they made fun of. But even the best agents couldn‘t keep their mouths shut. Everyone (except for Mycroft), laughed for exactly 2 minutes 32 seconds. Then they heard a man‘s voice from Mycroft‘s transmitter.

"It looks like you are having a fun here. The half hour is gone. Should we start shooting?" Everybody stiffened. They were expecting an early end, but not so fast. Mycroft seriously considered a pilot‘s offer. At the moment he preferred to die. _Death can't be worse than living with this humiliation. Shakira, Gregory ?! Shakira ?!_ He gave them another 20 seconds of uncertainty and pure fear. _Much better._ He straightened up. _The_ _I_ _ce man_ _is_ _back._ Mycroft cleared his throat.

"It won‘t be necessary anymore. Thank you. Dismiss."

"Sure, boss." Everyone loudly sighed in relief.

"Anthea, get me a car." Anthea jerked. Tears poured into her eyes. Did she still have her job?

"Yes, sir!" She answered gratefully.

"Now, could anyone explain me, whom it seemed to be a good idea to bring so many units in one place because of one only civilian? Adams, report." Mycroft gestured to a small insignificant man, who Greg knew for two and a half years as David Mitttelch. The man shuddered.

"Everything started Sherlock."

"That‘s not fair!" Sherlock shouted back. Mycroft rubbed his temples tiredly.

"In the taxi, he contacted members of Blue Force and Anthea. She further notified MI6. During the meeting got involved MI5, the Melfisto unit, the offshoot of the CIA and the FBI, but people further spread their concerns. You know how fast can agents gossip. Other units joined to avoid being omitting or for sake of watching a competition. I have no authority to tell you the names of all the teams here, although I have no doubt, that you already knew them. All civilian were evacuated except for Dr Watson, Sherlock, and Greg – I am sorry, I meant Inspector Lestrade. Now, there are at least 128 agents from over 18 fractions. Other troops were on their way to help their colleagues, because even after a half an hour of mission announcement, Lestrade was not found."

" **H** **alf an hour**? In such a small area full of professional agents? Tell me, who found the inspector at last?" Adams swallowed (also his pride).

"After 49 minutes, Greg Lestrade surrendered himself to Sherlock."

"You bloody liar! I did not surrender at all! I thought your idiot brother would help me when the mans in black started to hunt me like a criminal-" Greg argued frustrated, but one thought stopped him.

"When I am talking about criminals. I hope, you have found and arrested the killer in the warehouse next to the victim‘s room... You‘re joking, the kid is still handcuffed there?" Agents looked at him admiringly. Not only did he disappear off the face of the earth for 45 minutes, he resolved the murder and placed the killer under arrest. _Who_ _the hell_ _**is**_ _Greg Lestrade?_ Every agent thought.

"Uh-oh yes, some time ago we registered unusual sounds coming out of the warehouse and found there a disarmed young man, who was matching to Sherlock‘s description of the killer. The man was handcuffed and disarmed. Later, we discovered, that we had already found killer‘s weapon in the inspector‘s possession. From the blood stains on the Lestrade‘s suit we assumed, he had a fierce fight with the suspect. But the inspector didn't show any signs of injury, so agent Tomson used the opportunity to get Donovan and Anderson out of the mission zone. They took the killer to Scotland Yard." Added a woman, who introduced herself to Greg a few weeks ago as Roberta Bryndon. If he looked at Mycroft, he would see how proud (and concerned) he was. _Oh,_ _my brave_ _Gregory_.

"Wait! What has happened to Jonathan?" Asked Greg.

"Hmm... Indeed. I was expecting a report from him first. Where is the young man?"

"... At the very beginning of the operation, he revealed the entire mission to the inspector and gave him the opportunity to escape. That‘s why he was taken away." Greg was horrified.

"Does that mean you have killed him?" He asked incredulously.

"We are not Russians, Gregory. The disciplinary committee has to examine his actions. However, he won‘t be punished for helping you, by any means. Instead, he will get an immediate bonus." Mycroft gestured something to Anthea. She nodded with a smile.

"Already done, sir. Sir, the car is ready."

"Excellent." Mycroft stepped out to the prepared limousine with an authoritative pace. _Too extravagant. G_ _reat work_ _, A_ _drea_ _. You just earned a more generous Christmas bonus._ He stopped and turned to the crowd.

"Today has never happened. If a single word escapes, I will draw the consequences for all."

He said in an icy voice accompanied by a murderous glance. There was no reason to repeat himself. He was Mycroft Holmes. The Ice Man. Mycroft slipped into the limousine with one elegant move and waited. His fingers impatiently drummed on the seat.

"Gregory, you won‘t join me?" Greg flinched.

"Ehh ... I‘ll rather go on foot. I don‘t want to get your fancy car dirty. And you know the fresh air always helps me."

"Nonsense."

"I-"

"Gregory. Get. In." Mycroft tone did not allow any _but_. Greg turned to share last desperately look with John and other agents. Although their expressions said quite clearly: _Thank God, it is not me_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe some of you think, that Mycroft would never embarrass himself, but I am sure he would do anything to save the person he loves.


	11. I am tired of you playing the martyr

For 10 minutes they just sat and stared blankly in front of them. They both waited for the other to begin. _So now it comes ... Now he‘_ _ll_ _leave me!_ Ran through the mind of both. _Pull yourself together._ _Make_ _the first step. Save the rest of your dignity._ Mycroft repeated himself for a second time with full awareness, that he couldn‘t take the denial from inspector‘s mouth. _What_ _had_ _happened_ _to_ _you? Uncle Rob,_ _give me streng_ _t_ _h_ _. F_ _eelings are just a waste of time_. _I can do it._ Mycroft cleared his throat. He accidentally made an eye contact with Gregory‘s hazelnuts puppy eyes. His determination immediately broke.

"Are you all right?" Mycroft asked frankly. Greg took a moment to answer.

"Why? Ah, do you mean this?" He pointed to his stained suit and smiled sheepishly.

"In fact, there was no ‚fierce fight‘. That murderer, Julius McMustafa, was hiding in a secret hiding place for gunfire, when he had seen my gun, he immediately agreed to share his place with me. It was very narrow, so I had to be pressed on him… I‘m sorry, I have soiled your seats."

"Don‘t worry, the seats have been through much worse."

"... I probably don‘t want to know it, right?"

"No, you don‘t."

"Hmm... Otherwise, if I don‘t count my jaw, many threads and some pushing from agents, no one has touched me." Mycroft sighed a breath of relief, which he wasn‘t even aware of holding. Greg studied him with a glance.

"My? What has happened **to you**? Did anybody hurt you?"

"No... Although I know it is obviously impossible to believe it, I really hurt myself."

"What? How?!" Mycroft didn‘t answer. Greg sighed loudly.

"State secret?" He asked sarcastically.

"State secret." Mycroft agreed gratefully. There was another heavy silence. Greg clenched his fists. _No, I won‘t let our relationship end like this._

"Look Mycroft, I‘m so sorry. I overdid it. I didn‘t want to ridicule you. I would absolutely understand if you didn‘t want to have anything with me anymore but-"

"…Gregory, what are you talking about? That‘s absolutely absurd! Without any explanation people from your own team turned against you. You have become a hunting game for more than a hundred agents. You had to squeeze yourself on the murderer. My brother dislocated your jaw and after that all, it‘s you who feel guilty? You are begging me here for forgiveness, although it‘s me, who should apologize. And the worst thing is, I can‘t sincerely apologize to you and promise, that you will never be in danger again. With my position sooner or later you will become the target for my enemies. Gregory Lestrade, I have nothing to offer. No good future with me is waiting for you... It would be best, if we terminated our re-"

"You know what? Go fuck yourself." Mycroft paused. He didn't expect another reaction, but Greg‘s words still hurt him.

"Can you for once stop being a drama queen and ask what **I** want? I am tired of you playing the martyr, how you don‘t deserve to be happy and you have to protect everyone. You know, what I think about it? It‘s pretty bullshit!" _That‘s_ _a little hypocritical_ _of_ _you_ _Gregory_. Mycroft thought astonished.

"Very well, Gregory. Tell me, what do you want?"

"I want you to give our relationship another chance. Maybe we‘ll stay together for a week or perhaps less... But I do not want to end it this way."

"What about all the risks?"

"My sweet Pudding, if you dating James Bond, there are always risks. But believe to my old police instinct – it‘s worth it."

"Oh, I hope, you don‘t want to start using that nickname?" Mycroft arched his left eyebrow. He didn‘t understand at all, how Gregory could still want to live with him. Or why was his heart beating as if somebody was aiming at him. He tried to keep his notorious poker face, but inside was Mycroft in heaven.

"Which one do you mean? Sweet Pudding or James Bond?" _With this voice, you can_ _call_ _me what_ _ever_ _you want._ Mycroft though with pure affection.

"Tell me, Gregory, one more thing."

"Hmm...?"

"What is your opinion on the movie Pretty Woman?" Greg looked at Mycroft in shock. Mycroft blushed and lowered his eyes. It made a huge smile on Greg‘s face.

"Mycroft Holmes, you are a man full of surprise." Greg laughed and passionately kissed Mycroft. _Mm... it seems, that Gregory‘s police instinct is indeed very accurate._

"Wait!" Greg suddenly broke off. Mycroft growled in disapproval.

"Shit! Now I just realized, that one of your agents have destroyed my cell phone!"

"I‘ll buy you another one. Let‘s continue-" Mycroft snapped.

"Definitely not! I can‘t let you buy me things! My salary isn‘t big but I can support myself, thank you very much… Oh, I will have to spend all my savings on it! Uh, what about my photos, contacts, and so on!" Lestrade was horrified.

"Gregory, we will not spoil our anniversary, because of some pointless thing, which can be replaced. Your phone will be returned to you with all its content. Anthea will take care of it." Mycroft tried to change the topic, but Greg wasn‘t relieved. Instead he paled more.

"Did you say anniversary? Are we having an anniversary? Jesus, yeah, we have an anniversary! I remember it, I just didn‘t realize it at all ... Eh ... Which anniversary?" He rubbed his hair with his hands.

"First date."

"Ahh! With all the respect for your memory, I am surprised you care about ‚such trivial and sentimental things as the anniversary‘." Greg paraphrased Mycroft‘s old words and Mycroft blushed.

"Of course I don‘t remember. That‘s why I have a personal secretary." Greg finally laughed.

"Uffff... For a moment, I thought, I am the one socially incapacitated in a relationship with Holmes." Mycroft felt offended, so he arched his eyebrows to express it.

"Excuse me. For your information, I have built my entire career on my diplomacy and international relations skill."

"Mmmm ... I wasn‘t serious, Pudding. I‘m just a little tired. You know I didn‘t sleep for 38-hour because of the case with a flight attendant... When I called your assistance and she told me, that you gave yourself a whole day off, I was so happy. I wanted to surprise you, but then you wrote me **the** text... I thought ... You don‘t want to see me… Maybe only for today, maybe for the rest of life… I wasn‘t sure and I did not want to think about it... I couldn‘t. So I went back to work. I need to do something ... I …" Greg ended with incomprehensible mumbles. Until now he didn‘t realise, how much he was tired. But now, when everything was solved and he felt secure again, his mind let him rest. He fell asleep on Mycroft‘s shoulder. _Like child._ Though Mycroft. _Not that I would complain. Just sleep. After t_ _oday_ _, you deserve_ _it…_ _We_ _both_ _do_. Mycroft smiled as his eyelids slowly eased til he finally dozed off.

The driver rounded London thrice. Then he started to run out of fuel, so he decided, it was the right time to tactfully wake up his passengers:

„Gents, we have arrived at the destination.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you expected smut or something like it, I know this probably isn‘t the end you were waiting for, but the boys had a hard day and they aren‘t young anymore…  
> Anyway, thank you for reading. Your comments and kudos really motivated me, so I decided to write another one and turn this into series :D  
> Btw if you want to get my story more quickly or you tired of reading sentences, which don‘t make any sense, please write me and become my Beta (I still have none).


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